by Jean Sasson
Looking at sweet-faced Dilipa, I considered the millions of homesick foreign workers living and working in Saudi Arabia. Although Kareem and I employ hundreds of people in our homes and businesses, we are always fair and just to those who work for us. None have to worry about not receiving their salary, or being physically abused in any manner. I have always felt empathy with the foreign workers, as various problems plague so many of them. As a teenager, I befriended one of our Filipina housemaids, who confided to me the tragedy of some of her friends who worked for other Saudi families. As a sensitive child, I was already aware that many foreign workers found it very difficult to leave their loved ones and take up employment far from home in order to support their families. I knew they would be lonely and more than a little lost, even if they were well treated by their employers.
People who have not lived in Saudi Arabia have little or no awareness of how completely Saudis depend upon their domestic employees. Nor would those people know that there are nearly 10 million expatriate workers in the kingdom. This, in a country with only 19 million native Saudis. I have been asked many times why there is such a necessity for foreign workers; although there are simple answers to this question, few will respond truthfully. However, I have no problem admitting the painful reality. Few Saudis will consider working in a service job, for most believe they would lose face if they took a position where they served others. Therefore, Saudis have no choice but to hire foreign workers for menial jobs in the commercial sector, as well as in the private sector, where millions work as housemaids, cooks, and nannies. Since women are forbidden to drive, any Saudi family who can afford a driver has one—men originating from Indonesia, Egypt, and the Philippines mainly.
A second reason for the high number of expatriate workers is the low number of Saudi females in the workforce. Although a high percentage of Saudi women obtain an education, many employers fiercely resist hiring them in the workplace. Employing women creates many complications, and obstacles, for an organization since men and women are forbidden from face-to-face contact: Gender segregation is an inflexible rule. Even the rooms in an office building must be rearranged, for it is imperative to keep male and female employees separated by walls or temporary partitions. Then there are unreasonable men who complain that simply knowing a sensual female is in the building is too distracting for them to work productively. These ignorant men truly believe that females cannot control their desires and are working only to seduce men. Such unenlightened men can, and do, create endless problems for the employer.
It is easy to understand why it is much less problematical to simply ban female workers. Due to this impediment, the percentage of females in the workforce is dismally low. I am sorry to say that my country is filled with educated women who are sitting at home, not allowed to use their skills productively.
I was born in Saudi Arabia. My family rules Saudi Arabia. I am a Saudi Arabian woman who loves her country. However, I cannot deny that we are behind the times in so many ways: Transformation is long overdue.
I have tried to play a secret role in the change that must come to my country, for I have been an anonymous and rigorous voice for many years now, alerting the world to the abuse endured by so many Saudi women, even those of the royal family. I have succeeded in some ways and failed in others.
Since I was a child, I have overhead the powerful men in my family—the very men who are able to bring improvement to the lives of so many—say that the Saudi journey to gender and democratic reform must be gradual, that great turmoil would result if the government moved more rapidly than the street, meaning moving faster than the citizens of Saudi Arabia.
I agreed with their assessment once, but no longer. I believe that the majority of Saudi men, even men in my family, truly like keeping women in a secondary position—although they will give many different reasons for being unable to elevate women to their rightful place in society—thus denying them to live lives of dignity.
I also believe that most ordinary Saudi citizens desire more freedom for women, and more democratic reform for all residents living in the kingdom. In our case, “the street” is ahead of the government and of the religious authorities, who would like nothing better than to keep all women imprisoned in their homes, just as it used to be in my grandfather’s time, when women were not even allowed to walk from their homes or private gardens to go to a shop, even if escorted by her male guardian.
I used to believe that before I departed this earth I would live in a land where women are free, and where the men who help those women are not punished. I now fear that this dream will not be realized. On the day of my death, I feel certain that I will still be criticizing the continued lowly status of females in my country.
My thoughts reverted to my daughter and I smiled and began to eat. After we shared a light lunch, Amani spoke. “Mummy, you seem far away. What are your thoughts?”
I smiled. “At that very moment, I was thinking of the people who make our lives so easy, Amani. We are very fortunate that we can spend our time doing the things we wish to do, rather than be burdened with housework and the other time-consuming chores so many women in our world undertake.”
Amani shrugged. “Mummy, they should be very happy to have a job to enable them to support their families.”
I gazed at my seemingly unfeeling daughter but did not react to her disappointing words, reluctant to spark an argument with this, my most complicated child. Instead, I asked, “Tell me, Daughter, what are your thoughts? I am interested in knowing what is occupying your mind today.”
Her face inscrutable, Amani spoke in an unemotional tone. “I was thinking that soon the Islamic State will celebrate a year’s anniversary.” She paused. “I have also been reflecting on the sad plight of the many thousands of people caught in their path.”
I looked intently into my daughter’s eyes.
Amani stared at me without blinking.
When my eyes started to sting, I blinked.
How, I wondered, could it be that both my daughters were on to the same subject matter at the identical time? This had never happened in the history of our family. Maha and Amani are as different as two girls can be. While Maha had always been devoted to human rights, Amani had dedicated her life to animal rights, although over the past year she had awakened to the importance and the matchless personal satisfaction one experiences when helping other humans. She had taken particular interest in darling twin girls, Afaf and Abir, the daughters of a woman named Fatima, whose life had dramatically changed for the better when Kareem and I brought her into our home. Amani also took special notice of my educational charity work for girls in Palestine.
I sat speechless, speculating for a moment whether Maha had written a revealing note to her sister at the same time as she had communicated with me. But I instantly cleared that possibility from my mind; Maha did not trust her sister and would never divulge such an important secret to her. I could not blame Maha, as Amani’s reactions in the past were enough to make anyone wary of trusting my youngest child.
“Mother? Are you still with me? The Islamic State? Do you have any ideas what we might do to help the people being tortured by those men who claim to follow the Muslim path?”
I bit my lips and looked away, apprehensive that I would say the wrong thing.
Amani sighed deeply before expressing her strong opinion of the men behind the Islamic State. “You know, Mother, from what all I have read, those men seem to know nothing about the goodness and kindness of the Prophet and of his teachings.”
“You are right, Daughter,” I murmured as I nodded my head in agreement. “From what I have seen reported in the news, these men are hiding behind our faith even as they behave in ways that would surely win the Prophet’s condemnation.”
Amani’s eyes were glistening. I wondered if my daughter was going to weep, something out of character for Amani, who generally keeps a check on her tears. Her voice breaking, she asked, “What about the young girls and women who ar
e being sold like camels at auction? Have you heard of these things?”
“Yes. I have learned many things. I pray that much of what I have heard is rumor, but I fear that it is not the case. From all reports, these ghastly men become very joyful, even excited, when given the opportunity to rape very young children.” I grimaced. “It is a picture that I do not want settled in my mind, but once heard it is impossible to erase the image of what those innocent babies are enduring.”
My daughter was twisting her hands in despair, for she was a mother who loved her children dearly: If they stumbled while running, even without sustaining injury, Amani became visibly upset.
“Amani, try to be calm. It appears that the world is unwilling, or helpless, to stop these people. Indeed, the men in our family have learned that the governments of the United States and of Europe have no further interest in helping their friends in the Middle East. I believe that the latest debacle in Iraq convinced the Americans that they best leave the Middle East altogether, that there is nothing to be gained from intervention in this region.”
I paused, searching for words that might reassure my child. “But, Amani, at least Uncle Salman is doing what he can to stop the rebels in Yemen.”
“Are those Houthi rebels a big threat to us?”
I paused a second time, gathering my thoughts. “The situation is complicated and it is difficult to say with certainty what will happen if there is war, or if they are ignored altogether. Your father believes that they must be stopped, for the sake of the Yemeni people. As for me, although I do not believe that even if they take full charge they would be a huge threat to our country, I also believe that a wise man or woman would never wish for an enemy to be so close. If the Houthi are allowed to create a stronghold in Yemen, it would be very easy for them to slip across our border and create unrest in our own country.” I hesitated for a moment, “Yet all our hearts break for the innocent civilians maimed or killed under our Saudi bombs.”
I looked into my daughter’s eyes, “Mistakes are made during such tense times. We will have to wait and see the outcome.”
“Why do we not bomb the Islamic State, rather than the rebels in Yemen?”
“Amani, while it is clear that the principal danger is coming from Syria and Iraq, the problem with the Islamic State is thorny. How can a country like our own, with a small population, fight so many men who have carefully perfected the tactics of war and terror taught to them by their own rulers?” By my words, I was speaking of the men who had served under Saddam Hussein, a most ruthless ruler who controlled Iraqis through fear of what would happen were they disloyal to him or the regime. The Syrian regime had been equally repressive. It seems that the most devoted fighters were from those two countries, although there were plenty of volunteers from other Arab lands.
When she reached for her cup of tea, I saw that Amani’s delicate hands were trembling. Now I believed that Amani’s questions about the Islamic State had nothing to do with Maha and her letter. My daughter was in despair due to the current crisis in our region.
I tried to reassure her that what was happening was not due to any blunders made by the Saudi government but had occurred due to forces we could not control. “I can barely believe what is happening across Arab lands. Although the Syrian government has always been strong-armed with their citizens, from what I know of the Syrian people, they are good.”
Amani’s face turned the brightest pink as she considered my words. “And the women who join them? Women from Europe who are making the journey to Turkey to join these men? Have you heard of them?”
“I do not know much about them, Amani. I have read a little. Truthfully, Daughter, I am more interested in the victims, not the women who bolster these loathsome men with their support.”
Obviously, my daughter was keeping up with the men and women who joined the Islamic State. She said, “Mummy, these women leave their countries in Europe to travel to Turkey then cross the border to marry the fighters. Then they help to patrol the regions that have been captured. The women who join the Islamic State then attack those who are unwilling to join them. I have always thought that men are too often drawn to the violence of war, but it is a new thought for me that women enjoy such actions.”
For once, my daughter knew much more than her mother about an Arab crisis. I decided then that I would find out about these women from Europe or other lands who were supporting men who were rapists and murderers.
“Have you any firsthand knowledge, Mother?”
“Of the women who join the fighters?”
“No.”
I was confused. “Knowledge of what aspect of this, Amani?”
“Of the refugees.”
“Oh, the refugees.” I paused, noting Maha’s connection to the refugees. I have never wanted to intentionally lie to any of my children, but Maha had placed me in a position of trust, and I could not disclose my eldest daughter’s newfound passion of volunteering in the refugee camp. “Daughter, I can only tell you what I have read, or heard. Nothing more.”
Amani appeared to be near tears, probing further, bombarding me with several questions at once. “Mummy, are we in danger of the Islamic State? Do you and Father worry that these violent men will one day be in Riyadh?”
I remained silent, not knowing how to comfort my child.
Understanding by my silence that I could not offer reassurance, Amani’s voice cracked in emotion. “Are my children in danger?” she asked.
My youngest daughter is the mother to two young children. Little Prince Khalid is now three years old. Amani’s second child, a little girl she named Princess Basinah, is only eight months old.
Kareem and I feel keen disappointment that our daughter cannot cut her ties with the animal world, even when naming her daughter. Basinah is a nice name, but it was chosen by my daughter only because the meaning is “little kitten,” Amani rarely calls Basinah by her name, addressing her instead as “my little kitten.” But there is nothing that I can do but support my child, despite the unconventional preferences in her personal life.
Hearing the fear in my daughter’s voice, I began to feel very anxious and vulnerable. As a mother, it is almost unendurable to witness fear or pain when it comes to my children. But I reminded myself that Amani was no more fearful than the millions of other people living in the Middle East. Everyone in the region was occupied by the severity of the threat, with many enduring painful deaths at the hands of those who have no mercy in their hearts.
Few events in modern history have shaken the stability of the region more than the current movement headed by the Islamic State fighters, despite Saudi intelligence estimates that there are no more than 50,000 to 75,000 fighters. In their crusade to establish an Islamic state to be governed by their version of sharia law, these men have terrorized huge swaths of Syria and Iraq, with promises to leave no current Arab regime in place. Although their numbers are small in comparison to the size of the armies they attack, thus far their ferocity for war has immobilized most of those they have met on the battlefield. Much to the Arab world’s chagrin, large numbers of those sent to defend their countries have fled rather than do battle with the Islamic State fighters. This, even though they have ample soldiers and the latest weapons to defeat their enemy. Only the Kurdish fighters are uncompromising on the battlefield, matching and defeating the Islamic State fighters in battle after battle; but there are not enough Kurds to protect all the Arab lands.
“Darling, no, your children are not in danger. Do not forget that Saudi Arabia is a huge land, and there is a vast desert between Riyadh and the Islamic State fighters. Our king is a man who believes in protecting Saudi citizens and the holy sites. Uncle Salman has led our close friends and neighbors in the region to attack rebels in Yemen. This showed great courage and wisdom. Do you believe that our uncle Salman will sit calmly on his throne if our country is threatened by the Islamic State? Never will that happen,” I said with certainty.
Amani continued to sob, despite
my reassurances.
I leaned toward my daughter, holding her small frame in my arms. “Amani, you have your mother’s word that your father and I will never allow anything to happen to you or your children. Now, stop weeping, darling, or I will weep with you!”
Amani’s tear-filled eyes stared back at me and she eventually became calm. I took this opportunity to change the subject. The pictures that I had seen in Amani’s hands were now lying facedown on a small table next to where we were sitting. “Amani, darling, brush away your tears and tell me why you came to see your mother. I want to know about the photographs I saw in your hands.”
“Oh yes, the pictures.” Amani shifted her position to reach out for the photographs. “Well, first of all, Mother, the pictures I am about to show you have nothing to do with the victims of the Islamic State. These pictures have to do with women in Pakistan, women who have been cruelly and intentionally injured by Pakistani men.’
This was an unanticipated matter. To the best of my memory, I had never heard Amani express concern about the human rights of Pakistani women.
“Pakistan?” I asked, reflecting on a time some years before when my sisters and I had gathered in a circle to protect a young Pakistani girl named Veena from further sexual attacks inflicted by three of my nephews.
That was on the occasion when my husband and I, along with our three children, joined my siblings and their children in the Saudi desert at Wadi al-Jafi.
All Saudis I know carry a deep and lasting affection for the desert. Although I will not provide a full history of my family for this story, it is good for readers to know that the rulers of Saudi Arabia were settled village Arabs, rather than Bedouin, who roam the lands. Still, we remained solidly attached to the desert, as our country is mainly desert, with only a few large cities and some villages located in livable areas that are scattered throughout our vast country. Even village Arabs feel at home in the desert, for so much of our country’s history is entwined with the desert, a history that pulls us to the vast empty sands.
